Missed Me, Missed Me
by Baroness Kika
Summary: Modern AU; After moving South for business, unsuspecting Peeta Mellark falls for an intoxicating burlesque performer with secrets and demons he's not sure he's prepared to face. Written for Prompts in Panem, round 5, and presented in three parts. Banner by Ro Nordmann.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story was written for and originally posted on the Tumblr page for _Prompts in Panem_, round 5 (March '14). It will be presented in three parts, using inspiration from three different prompts from that round, as well as the song "Missed Me" by the Dresden Dolls, from which the story gets its name.**

**Please note that this first part contains brief mention of suicide. Other trigger warnings will be included prior to each chapter.**

**I don't own the characters of The Hunger Games, nor the rights to any and all lyrics used.**

* * *

_**Fantasy**_

* * *

Peeta Mellark didn't expect to wake up on the third morning living in New Orleans in a different bed than he had the previous morning—and yet, when he wakes up that, he rolls over and his arm bumps into a naked, tan-skinned torso swathed in satin sheets and a curtain of the darkest brown hair he's ever seen in his life.

Just hours before, his fingers had been knotted in those locks, controlling the woman's ministrations as her mouth worked him to oblivion. Then he'd tugged it none-too-gently as he'd taken her from behind, feeling her incredibly tight pussy fluttering around him with each pounding thrust. She'd really enjoyed that part, or so it'd seemed to him in his beer-soaked, lust-filled daze.

Now, with the sun shining through her billowy curtains and a splitting headache behind his eyes, Peeta wonders just how much of the night before was real, and what his brain has simply made up.

* * *

_He genuinely thought that Delly Cartwright, his new, vivacious, blonde co-worker, was asking him out on a date. And despite her not really being his type, Peeta said yes anyway. He was new in town and had yet to really see any of the city, so despite his apprehensions of getting involved with a co-worker, he said yes. He'd been floored when, upon arrival at the art-nouveau theatre that advertised "Best Burlesque South of the Mason-Dixon" on the side, Delly had opened her arms to a similarly-figured brunette named Leevy and kissed her passionately on the mouth. He figured that at least this meant that the invariably stunted, awkward goodnight kiss wouldn't happen, and he wouldn't have to start looking for a new job right away._

_Leevy bought the first round as they settled into a booth near the stage. Peeta didn't know whether or not to be nervous about seeing a burlesque show, but Delly had insisted this was the perfect introduction to the city. "People think we're all about debauchery and debasement, and sure, we get like that around Mardi Gras," Delly had said protectively of her hometown. "But it's the tourists that flash their tits for cheap beads and free Jell-o shots. A real N'Awliner has some class and dignity."_

_Peeta'd bitten his lip before pointing out that burlesque was still ostensibly stripping without the 80s music and nipples__—_or at least, how he understood it it was. But then the lights had gone down, the dark crimson curtain had gone up, and a man in a comically tall top hat with piercing green eyes took a flourished bow before sitting down at the baby grand piano off to the side of the stage. When the very first act came out, Peeta realized he'd been hasty to judge. Or maybe he was just intoxicated by the gunmetal grey eyes that peered out from a glittered lioness mask as she sashayed and waltzed around the stage in time with the sensuously-paced piano accompaniment, depositing her faux-fur costume piece by piece until nothing but a thong the color of a flickering candle flame and a pair of orange pasties adorned her tawny flesh. She removed the mask with gusto, and the audience burst into wild applause.

_"Welcome, welcome, welcome to our very special circus show," she'd purred demurely, tossing her long hair over her shoulder as the pianist slipped a silk kimono over her shoulders. "We humbly promise that no animals were harmed in the production of our acts tonight—but I can't say the same thing about some of your trousers out there."_

_When she winked, Peeta thought she was winking straight at him._

_"Shall I bore you with trifles like introductions, or should we move straight on?" she asked, and the whoop of the crowd gave her her answer. With a smirk, she'd simply said, "Very well. On with the show!" and strode off the stage. She was replaced soon enough with a petite brunette with four double-ended dildos affixed together to create the illusion of a snake draped around her shoulders who somehow managed to not drop the silicone creation once as her costume fell to the stage floor—but Peeta longed for the first girl to come back, and not just because he wanted to see more of her skin. There was something special about her; while the other girls in the troupe seemed to ooze sex appeal and coquettish charm, there was an odd..._purity_ was the only word he could think of, and Peeta was struck dumb by it. He'd never been so perplexed by how he could be so enthralled at seeing women take their clothes off without a raging hard-on between his legs.  
_

_By the time she came onto the stage again, he must have been breathing a bit more heavily for how Delly had nudged him in the ribs and winked at him._

_"Don't feel bad…Katniss is my favorite, too."_

_Katniss. _Kat_-niss. He rolled the name around on his tongue and found he quite liked the sound of it. Stage name or no, it was beautiful. Just like its owner. And he intended to tell her that, just as soon as the show ended._

_He hadn't expected her to call him beautiful in return and ask him out for a drink. After that, things felt a little shiny, as though she had some entrancing effect on him he couldn't quite grasp. And then, one thing led to another. And another. And another…_

* * *

Peeta slips on his shorts and socks as he scavenges around for the rest of his clothes. He finds his pants but his belt seems to have disappeared along with his shirt. Through the splitting headache invading the space between his eyes, he tries to recall where it might have gotten torn off of him when they'd fumbled blindly into the house after last call at the bar they'd gone to. He decides to bite the bullet and search the living room and hallway for everything else. It would also buy him some time to figure out what he might say to her when he wakes her to tell her he's leaving, which he knows he had to do—it _was_ the gentlemanly thing, after all. He also isn't exactly sure where he is, just that his car is back at the theatre. He hopes it's not too long of a walk.

He finds the shirt with a button or two missing from their kissing frenzy, and is shoving his feet into his shoes when a throaty chuckle emanates from the kitchen. He looks up in horror to see a male silhouette—_did he sleep with a married woman_?! Then he recognizes the pianist from the show, and his stomach dislodges itself from his lungs.

"'Morning," the copper-haired man says. "How was your evening?"

"Ah, it was, erm, fine, thanks. I'm sorry, I don't think I—"

"Finnick," the man says, offering Peeta his hand. "The humble pianist."

"Peeta Mellark. I, um, don't usually do this, and I wasn't trying to sneak out without saying goodbye to her or anything, but—"

"Bah, I'm not her keeper; I'm just her housemate. And you wouldn't exactly be the first fellow I've caught leaving her room first thing in the morning."

This sparks a surge of jealousy in the pit of Peeta's stomach. He doesn't know much about Katniss, considering the talking they'd done had been over drinks and he clearly can't handle his liquor like he could in college, but the implication that he's just another in a long string of one-night stands sets his teeth on edge. Maybe it's because he doesn't like to feel cheap and used, like he did for so much of his last serious relationship. Maybe it's because the glimmers of the sex from last night are coming back to him, and he's starting to realize it was probably some of the best he's ever had, despite being hammered. Maybe it's because he realizes that he is a little too far-gone with this girl already.

"Don't think I'm calling Katniss a slut, my friend. But she is a woman with a healthy sexual appetite," Finnick says, taking a long sip of his coffee. Peeta must look as taken-aback as he feels at how the other man has read his mind. Finnick's laugh is deep and jovial. "If you were going to say goodbye before you left, I'd suggest bringing her a cup of coffee—she's not much of a morning person."

He follows Finnick into the kitchen and accepts the mug he offers, but for him, not for Katniss. He isn't entirely sure how Finnick guesses he takes his coffee without sugar, but the caffeine helps clear his fuzzy brain a bit.

"So, how do I get back to the theatre from here? I, erm, left my car there. Is it walkable?"

"Oh, Katniss'll take you if you don't have anywhere to be straight away. She's there more often than she's here, really. Studious one, she is. She starts choreographing the next show even before Annie and Johanna's feet have recovered from the blisters."

Thinking back to her being both the first, middle, and last performer of the night, it makes sense to Peeta that Katniss would be the troupe's lead, particularly with how effortlessly she was the best. Out of nowhere, he gets the feeling that Finnick is checking him out, and it jars him out of his thoughts of Katniss. Again, the other man's lips curl up in a smile, and Peeta begins to wonder if the guy is genuinely psychic.

"I don't mean to leer, man, I'm just noticing—you were an athlete at some point, right?" Finnick asks.

"Erm…yeah, I wrestled in high school, and played hockey. Um, why?"

"Kinda off the cuff, I realize, but you know the burly guy who tromped out on stage during the aerial stuff? He's a good dude, but he's about to move back to Baton Rouge, and you seem like the right build for a spotter."

"Oh. I, ah, have a full-time job, actually, and it's going to be keeping me pretty busy…"

"It's not the time commitment you'd think it'd be. Annie and Jo and me, we only show up to rehearsals a few nights a week to prep for the shows. Katniss is the only one who does this for a living."

"Right, sure, but I still can't…"

Finnick holds up his hands. "It was out of nowhere, I realize. No worries. Here, this is Katniss's coffee. I reckon she won't kill you now that you've let her sleep a little bit more."

He swills back the last vestiges of his own cup and nods to the other man in thanks before returning to Katniss's room. He sort of hopes she'll already be awake, but she's laying exactly how she had been when he left the room. He sits the cup on her end table and kneels next to her, unsure whether he ought to kiss her or shake her shoulder. She saves him the trouble when her eyes flutter open and drink him in. They're a softer grey this morning somehow, and all the more alluring to him. She stretches her spine like a cat before sitting up, not bothering to cover herself at all when she takes the mug and sips deeply. His lips curve upwards when he spies the thin strip of dark curls covering her pussy, and how his mouth had nuzzled them before dipping between her folds to taste her. He actually salivates thinking about it, and how he'd very much like to do it again.

"Last night was fun," she says after a long pull of her drink. "I hoped you wouldn't leave without saying goodbye."

"No, I'd never…I just wasn't, you know, sure if you'd—"

He cuts himself off when she quirks her eyebrow; even something small like that just utterly disarms him. She laughs at him softly as he continues to stutter over his words, and shifts her thighs together before placing her feet in his lap.

"We can do it again sometime, if you'd like," she says. "Or it can just be last night. Your call, really. But I like you. A lot."

His mouth goes dry. She likes _him_? It's the best news he's heard since he got the promotion that moved him to New Orleans in the first place.

"I'd, ah, _definitely_ like to see you again."

"Well, you know where my shows are. Or we could do the boring thing like exchange phone numbers," she says with a seductive chuckle.

"Actually… Finnick, when he gave me the coffee to give you, said something about, erm, you needing a new spotter?"

He doesn't know why he's offering to do this. He really doesn't have time for it. But if he's going to spend the time he doesn't have with her, he can at least help her while he's at it. And maybe he likes the idea of catching her in his arms on the off-chance she falls, literally and figuratively sweeping her off her feet.

She smiles broadly, and runs her tongue along her lush bottom lip to drive her unspoken point home. With that, Peeta realizes just how much of a goner he is.

* * *

_As he started to learn things about the act, the production, the theatricality of it all, he'd begun to wonder why any self-possessed man would actually want to watch a stripper instead of this. He figured out the reason he'd been struck by how pure she'd seemed that first performance he'd viewed was because for Katniss, burlesque _was_ pure. It was chipping away the overwhelming ugly in the world and making something beautiful in its place. It was fantasy, sure, but more than that, it was _fantastical_—Peeta decided that was his new favorite word._

_It wasn't easy, he figured that out quickly. Katniss, Annie, Johanna, and the other girls had to time everything perfectly. Their fingers could too-easily tangle in the lacing of their corsets and throw off an entire routine. One glove not tossed off far enough was a slip and fall waiting to happen in their precarious, four or five inch heels. And then there were the aerial tricks. Annie had been practicing her sash routine when she'd miscalculated a grip and gone tumbling toward the stage. Finnick had screamed her name, Johanna had just screamed, and Peeta had barely caught her in time. He was applauded as their very own Hercules and received a kiss on the cheek in thanks from Annie. Katniss, however, had pulled him backstage, her hands still shaking from watching Annie's fall, and dropped to her knees in front of him, and sucked him dry until his knees went weak. When she'd wiped her mouth after, she'd simply said, "You're never leaving us. Please don't _ever_ leave us."_

_He'd promised. He couldn't say no to her._

_He decided early on the unpinning of their intricate up-dos was his very favorite part—even if it was the part that Katniss, who favored her hair plaited so it was off her neck, hated the most. It drove him wild when Katniss would work a garter belt and stockings into her acts, specifically when she'd have him check to make sure her seams were straight before she'd strut out on stage. He'd surreptitiously run his hand along her toned calves, even when they didn't need adjustments. The first time he'd done that, he'd earned a kiss unlike any other she'd given him—it was soft and gentle, with little to no insistence or neediness behind it. It was then he realized that his infatuation with her wasn't just infatuation. There was so much more to their relationship than met the eye, and that simple little kiss proved it._

_He spent more nights than not at her place. Sometimes he and Katniss would compete with Finnick and Annie and Johanna (Finnick loved Annie, Katniss had explained, but Johanna loved Finnick, and Annie loved them both), but that grew tiresome the longer they were together. He preferred hearing her throatier and silvery rather than screeching and pornographic, so when he rocked into her, he'd hush her so only he could hear her cries when she came. The first night he realized they were making love and not just fucking, she'd come so hard and so quietly for him that it actually laid him bare. He simply had to tell her what he felt. She'd gasped when he said the words "I love you", and asked him to please not be offended that she just couldn't say it back yet._

_"Please be patient with me," she'd whispered when he'd rolled away from her to nurse his bruised ego. "Please, Peeta—it takes me a while to catch up sometimes."_

_He started counting the months not by the pages of his tear-a-day-away desk calendar, but by rehearsals and performances. Their first big fight came when he had to pull overtime at his day job for a big project and couldn't be there to spot Johanna for her first aerial number she'd been training for for months. It was the longest stretch Peeta had slept without Katniss in his arms since before they met, and he missed her every second. At the end of the week, when he'd fallen into a heap on the sofa of his atrociously pre-furnished apartment, he'd been so exhausted that he almost didn't hear the knock on his door. But when he yanked it open, she'd strode in like she owned the place, dropped her trench coat in front of him, completely naked except for her high heels and a pair of lace-top stockings, and told him she needed to feel him make love to her. It was hurried and frantic because of how long it'd been, but when he'd emptied himself inside her, she held his gaze and said, "I love you, Peeta."_

_He'd grinned like a fool and kissed her body raw. He knew she meant it._

* * *

Katniss asks him to run into the changing area behind the stage where she and the other girls get ready to grab some clear nail polish out of her makeup bag to fix a run in one of her stockings. They'll pick up a new pair on _their_ way home, she says with a wink. He's giddy that she's calling _her_ house home for _him_, too, even though there's still been no official proclamation of anything—yet.

The trouble is that she hasn't specified which makeup bag the nail polish is in and she has at least four of them. He opts to shuffle through them quickly to find the tiny bottle, but has no luck with any of them. He opens a couple of the drawers on her changing table looking for it; in a hurry as he is, he knocks over the small framed picture tucked away by her curling irons and blotting tissues. He catches it just in time, and studies it queerly. It's Katniss, but younger, and a little blonde girl with glitter in her tautly-bunned hair. There is a slight but obvious family resemblance. Her sister, maybe? It must be. He didn't even know she had a sister; Katniss never talks about her family, period.

"Don't you dare let her catch you looking at that," Johanna says behind him, startling him enough he nearly drops the picture again. He buries it back on her cluttered tabletop and pulls his fingers through his hair nervously. Nice as she can be, Johanna intimidates the shit out of him. "What's taking so long?" she demands.

"I can't find her clear nail polish in any of those bags," he gulps. "I checked every one of them."

"Yeah, that's why she sent me back here, to get mine and bring you back up. But seriously—don't look through her stuff, it drives her insane. _That_ picture especially."

"Why? Who is it?" _We've been together six months_, he thinks. _What isn't she telling me?_

"She doesn't like to talk about Prim. If you ask her, she'll… Just let it go, Peeta."

But he can't just let it go. Not when he's beginning to wonder why his girlfriend would keep secrets about siblings from him when she supposedly trusts him implicitly with everything else. She's supposed to love him. And people in love don't keep secrets.

Annie is the one who tells him several days later, and he feels like a jackass as soon as she does—he _should_ have just left it alone. He'd probably keep a sibling's suicide a secret, too.

He doesn't tell her he knows; instead, he's extra attentive to her needs for days. He wakes up before her to cook her breakfast, and massages the balls of her feet, perpetually sore from the heels she wears on stage. He washes her hair and back in their shared showers and goes down on her literally every chance he gets, lapping at her pussy until she yanks strands of his hair out of his scalp. She doesn't ask him why he's being so extra affectionate, and he's not sure what he'd say if she did. Just that he loves her. That he loves _all_ of her, and doesn't want her to ever think differently. He can't fathom what it's like to lose someone you love like that, and he needs her to know he loves her. Just in case the rumbling in his gut is correct. That something else is the matter. That there's something looming on the horizon that will threaten everything they've worked for together. He just hopes he's wrong.

He's not.

* * *

**My thanks to _sohypothetically_ and _alatariel-gildaen_ - for whom this story is dedicated! - for their support, and to Ro Nordmann for a gorgeous banner! The second part will be up in a few days after it goes through a few cursory edits, and the third part just as soon as possible afterwards.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Trigger warning: illusions of drug addiction and withdrawal.  
**

**Song lyrics used: _The Perfect Fit _by the Dresden Dolls.**

* * *

_**'I am your captive'**_

* * *

_His fingers had closed around the baggie in front of her before she could snatch it away and hide it from him as she clearly was so good at doing._

_"What _is_ this, Katniss?" he asked without needing an actual explanation. He knew what it was because he'd seen it before, in a different person's hand, at a different time in his life he didn't ever want to relive._

_"It…Peeta, it isn't what it…"_

_"Don't. Lie to me. This is yours?"_

_"Y-Yes."_

_Realization coursed through him. "That tall blonde guy who's been stopping by once a week. He's your fucking dealer, isn't he?"_

_"Peeta, please," Katniss had begged. "It's just… I don't do it much, it's just recently, with the extra shows and all the extra work—"_

_"This isn't a... This shouldn't be..." he stammered. "This isn't… I have to go."_

_"Peeta, this doesn't have anything to do with you! It's not your business, really. It's mine, and I know it's bad for me, but I…"_

_"No. This affects me too," he snapped. "You have no idea what sort of effect you have on me when you're sober, Katniss. I…I'm not sure I can handle you if you have to be fucked up to function. I don't know if I can handle this again."_

_"Again? Peeta, what are you… Where are you going?!"_

_He hadn't answered her. He didn't know how to tell her he couldn't do this. Couldn't love another addict again when it had cost him so much before._

_"Peeta, please! Please, stay with me!"_

_"I can't, Katniss. I love you—but I can't."_

_He'd walked out the stage door and wept the entire way back to his dusty, never-used apartment. He had things at her house, things he needed, things he wanted. But he couldn't face her. It'd just be too painful._

* * *

He wants to go to the show, but he knows he won't be welcome. Not with the nasty texts Johanna has sent him, the calls from Finnick and Annie he's let go to voicemail before sliding his thumb across the screen to delete the message before even listening to it.

He knows what they're saying. _You can't leave someone just because they're chained to something you don't like. You shouldn't leave someone because they're addicted. That's not what a good person does, Peeta._

He knows. He's stayed before. Twice in fact. He can't do it again, and it has nothing to do with Katniss. It's everything to do with the addiction she'd hidden from him, because of course, addicts are masters at deception. He knows that, too. It isn't even her lying he's mad about, because of course she'd lie about it. It's—he can't explain. But he_ can't_ go through it all again. He can't watch her fall apart when there's nothing he can do to help her. He can't do it. He's done it too many times before. He feels weak and pathetic and powerless and like someone who isn't worthy of her. And maybe he is. But it doesn't change his mind.

Katniss doesn't carry a cell phone. She prefers email. When his phone dings with a new email, he isn't surprised to see her name flash across his screen. He's hell-bent on deleting it without reading. But it isn't a personal plea, a long string of text asking him to hear her out or give her another chance. She's simply attached the flyer for the very show he's been debating going to. Like a hint.

He still doesn't think he should go, even though she clearly wants him there. But her pull is irresistible, and he finds himself in the same booth he and Delly and Lee had occupied the first night he saw her.

She's added a new act; a surprising one. She starts in the center of the stage, clad only in a tan thong and pasties. Her hair is kinked in glossy waves around her shoulders, and she looks small. Finnick begins to play a slow, tinkling piano piece, and after several bars, she begins to sing. Peeta's never heard her sing before, not even in the shower, but her voice is gorgeous. He imagines that even song birds would be impressed by her dusky contralto that still can hit glorious higher notes without having to shout for them. And as she sings, she begins to put on her costume from the last act, beginning with a bra, glittery panties, and a pair of lace top stockings.

_I used to be the smart one_

_Sharp as a tack_

_Funny how that skipping years ahead_

_Has held me back_

_I used to be the bright one_

_Top in my class_

_Funny what they give you when you_

_Just learn how to ask_

Johanna slips onto the stage to rope her into one of her favorite corsets, which happens to be one of his favorites as well. It's swirling hues of orange and red and yellow, like sunrise, sunset, and a candle all at once. She gasps through the lyrics once or twice as Jo pulls the strings taut and the boning cinches her already tiny waist into a perfect hourglass. Peeta feels _that thing_ roil in his stomach, but tries hard to quell it. He has to be stronger than she is, because they're spiraling towards a whole other world of hurt if he doesn't.

_I used to be the bright one_

_Smart as a whip_

_Funny how you slip so far when_

_Teachers don't keep track of it_

_I used to be the tight one_

_The perfect fit_

_Funny how those compliments can_

_Make you feel so full of it_

It takes his breath away. How many times has he gasped into her ear how tight her pussy is, how perfectly he fits inside of her, like they were molded for one another? She punctuates the end of the verse with her fingers raking through her hair, plaiting her locks into two long braids around her shoulders that she pins up with bobby pins she retrieves from a cup on Finnick's piano. He's probably the only person listening to the lyrics to the song, and not simply gaping at how she's managed to make a performance so scintillating when it should be disappointing.

_Pure_. She's so _pure_, even if she is tainted by an addiction he's not sure he can handle and demons she doesn't seem to be willing to face.

_Can't you do it for me, I'll pay you well_

_Fuck, I'll pay you anything if you could end this..._

_Can't you just fix it for me, it's gone berserk..._

_Fuck, I'll give you anything if_

_You can make the damn thing work_

_Can't you just fix it for me, I'll pay you well,_

_Fuck, I'll pay you anything_

_If you can end this..._

_Hello, I love you will you tell me your name?_

_Hello, I'm good for nothing - will you love me just the same?_

"I can't fix you, Katniss," he whispers to himself. "I want to so bad. But I can't."

When she's fully clothed in yards of satin and five inch pumps (the heels of which have dug into his back as he's rolled into her over and over) the crowd gets to their feet and cheers loudly. He takes the opportunity to slip out of the theatre, but he finds himself frozen once he gets into his car. He can't even turn the engine over; his keys jingle to a standstill and the vehicle is awash in silence until his passenger door opens. Still in her full costume, she slips into the front seat of his car and holds out her gloved arm for his inspection.

"Look. No marks."

"Katniss, I don't need to…"

"Look, Peeta, please."

He switches on the little lamp above his rear view mirror and rolls down her glove to survey her arm. Tiny soft scars poke out from the crook of her elbow—how has he never noticed them before?—but nothing that could be any newer than months and months ago.

"It can be snorted, too. But my nostrils aren't inflamed, are they?" She tilts her head up to let him take a good look at her.

"No, I don't think so. But I don't really know—"

"I'm clean, okay? I promise. I tossed the stash when you left."

"That's wonderful. But I still can't. And you shouldn't just do this to—"

"I'm not doing this for you! I'm doing this because I know I have to. I know I need to. But if it also means I get to keep you, then it's even more worth it." Her eyes glisten in the dim light. "There are so many things I know I need to tell you, Peeta. But I've never been good at talking about things—at least, not the deep stuff—and maybe that's why I do this. But I want to try. For you, for us, for me. Please, let me try."

His resolve is breaking, no matter how much he wills himself to stay strong.

"I've heard all this before, Katniss. From my mother. From my ex. And I want to believe you, I really do, but…"

Her bustled, crinoline-lined skirt crinkles as she moves over the center console and straddles his lap. She forces him to look her in the eye, her perfectly manicured nails digging hard into the stubble on his chin.

"I've been trapped by this for so long, Peeta. I'm setting myself free. And it'd be worth it, even without you there when I crawl away, but I want you there. I want you. I love you. Please, stay with me. You don't have to fix me, not really. I have to fix myself. But I don't want to lose you if you can just forgive me. Please?" she murmurs.

He opens his mouth to protest, expecting her to silence him with her lips. She doesn't, but he still can't speak. He wants to believe her so badly.

"Please. Please stay with me, Peeta."

"A-always," he gasps, and surges his mouth up to hers. She gasps, and pushes herself down over the tented fabric of his jeans, riding him through the layers that separate his cock from her pussy. They work in tandem as quick as they can to push everything away, knowing full well they don't have all the time in the world as they'd like, as they probably need for this to be done correctly. She shifts and he wiggles and eventually, there they are—he's sheathed inside her, her vice-walls gripping him, and they gasp together, their eyes wide open, their breath caught in their throats, their fingers interlaced and bodies one entity. Peeta bucks up against her wildly, meeting her wanton thrusts down as her fingers tangle in his hair.

"Stay with me," she sighs again as they race one another to completion. "Fuck, Peeta, stay with me. Don't give up on me. I love you."

Her pussy _is_ the perfect fit. Her skin radiates musk and sweetness and her eyes bore into him and convince him that this is where he belongs—with her, always, no matter the price. She is his. He is hers. The rest is untenable.

"You're mine, Katniss," he growls. "I'm yours."

"Stay."

"Yes."

"_Fuck_."

"_Yes_!"

"I'm coming!"

He can't speak, but so is he. They shudder together, and if anyone happened to be walking along that particular corridor of the city, they'd easily hear the lovers' crescendo. They slump together after, sated and panting, their combined sweat marring the expensive fabric of her outfit as he softens inside her. She loops her fingers around his wrists, and rolls against him once more. He twitches inside her.

"Mine," she breathes.

"Yours," he agrees. He suckles at her pulse point. "Mine."

"Yours," she agrees. "Always yours."

* * *

_Peeta had seen withdrawal before, but seeing his love, his life, his everything shiver and sob and claw at her skin as the rest of her store left her tired, aching body nearly killed him. He held her, even when she screamed at him to leave her be, that she needed a hit and her dealer's number was in her phone, then wept because she promised him she'd delete it and with a shaking hand finally did, and whimpered that she's sorry, for everything… He'd held her just the same, even when it fucking killed him._

She's a prisoner_, he reminded himself. _A captive of this addiction. A slave to its hold on her. This isn't her—this is her at her worst, and she has to go through the worst to be at her best.

_It still killed him. He took leave from work, and Finnick and Johanna and Annie postponed the Steampunk and _Alice in Wonderland_ themed shows until the worst was over. Katniss had screamed at them all that those were her shows, and none of them had the right to take them away from her. Then she'd wretched until every muscle in her body was sore, and Peeta drew them a bath, holding her in the steamy, honeysuckle-scented water until she'd fallen asleep against his chest._

_Sometimes he'd wake in the middle of the night to her sucking his dick frantically, trying to pump him to hardness which usually wouldn't take much, but her body was so gaunt and frail and her skin so yellowed and sickly that it wasn't easy for him to get hard for her. He still craved her touch, her body, every inch of her, but it seemed wrong to take her when she was crawling her way out of such utter darkness. So he taught her to be patient. He'd slip his hand between her thighs and tease her clit until she mewled for him to finish her off, to make her feel better, if only for a moment. He'd pump his fingers inside her and give her the orgasm she craved because it would help her sleep for a few hours. Then the nightmares would start over again, and he'd clutch her to his chest. She asked him to sing for her which was futile because he's never been able to. He'd hum and stroke her back, or comb his fingers through her hair, or whisper the sweetest words of comfort and love he could think of._

_It helped. It wasn't always enough, but it helped. Day by day she got a tiny bit better. Hour by hour she clung to him just the tiniest bit less. And one day, after a bad night of terrifying dreams that kept her screaming and scratching and yowling, he woke to find her in her craft room stitching cogs from an antique clock onto one of her simple ivory corsets. She smiled at him, and it didn't look forced._

_"I think you should go to work today. Annie's off. I want to get the show on the road. I have so many ideas," she'd told him._

_He'd fallen to his knees in front of her and welcomed her back to life with his face between her thighs before taking her hard against the sun-dappled windowsill._

_She'd never really be free, not completely. She would struggle everyday. But it was a start. Their second start._

_He hoped so, anyway._

* * *

Katniss is snippy at Annie for being out of step for their duet for the _Alice in Wonderland_ show, but she's contrite enough to apologize afterwards. Finnick backtracks and replays the bridge of the song to give Annie an extra go at rehearsing the steps while Katniss bustles off the stage. Peeta follows her and pulls her into his arms just as she pops a lollipop in her mouth. He pulls it away from her for a second to drop a kiss on her lips; she tastes of a mixture of cloying artificial raspberry and lipstick.

"You're doing great, babe," Peeta says, his fingers trailing over her corseted waist. The strings are cinched so that the two halves are touching, which is disconcerting. Between he and Finnick, he knows she eats, but she's still dropping weight fast.

"I look like hell," she sighs.

"You look like someone who's trying to get healthy. That's all anyone can ask of you, you know."

She laces her fingers in his hair and props her head under his chin. He longs to unfurl her hair from its bun above the nape of her neck, but he can't quite convince himself to do it, knowing she has to rehearse it in a few minutes. He can feel himself twitch with longing for her, but he sets it aside.

She's looking up at him, and he swears he can see the words "I love you" form on her lips when Johanna snaps them out of their short moment of tranquility.

"Katniss…" Jo says warily, as though she's bracing the other woman for a death blow. "Your stepfather is here."

* * *

**A/N: The final part of this story was about half-written when it was due for PiP, and therefore was never submitted. It's fully plotted and should be posted soon.**

**Thanks for the kind reviews, and the favorites and follows for this story, folks! Your support is always more appreciated than I can possibly say.**

**In the meantime, I'd just like to quickly remind everyone that _Fandom4LLS_ is coming up again soon! I'm personally contributing two stories to the collection this year, but some of my favorite authors and friends in the THG fandom are as well, and those are stories you will simply not want to miss. For more information about how you can donate and receive the collection, please visit _ .com_.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Trigger warnings: references to child abuse, suicide, and drug use/addiction.**

**Song lyrics used: _Missed Me _by the Dresden Dolls**

* * *

_**Cruelty**_

* * *

_Peeta wasn't certain of many things after Seneca Crane's arrival, but he was certain that he wasn't imagining Katniss becoming…distant. In the blink of an eye, Katniss had gone from his highly affectionate girlfriend, still needing him to talk her down when her cravings became too much to bear, to a cold, lifeless, half-person of what she used to be. When she was on stage, he checked her dressing table and costume bags for paraphernalia, but found nothing to indicate she might have relapsed without him realizing. He didn't think it was drugs, not again. And certainly not after he spoke with Finnick._

_She'd shrugged away from him when he'd tried to make love to her a few days after her stepfather's arrival. To nurse his stupid pride, he'd slipped into the kitchen to make himself some tea. Finnick was sitting at the kitchen island, his headphones covering his ears, and had leapt a foot in the air when Peeta tapped his shoulder. After a quick apology, Finnick explained he was listening to a new set of songs that Katniss suddenly wanted him to learn for the _Alice in Wonderland _show—which had suddenly been postponed a week._

"_I'm surprised Crane let Katniss do that; he's all about his bottom line."_

_Peeta had blinked at Finnick in confusion. "What does he have to do with it?"_

_Finnick looked at him like he'd suddenly gone round the bend. "Crane's money finances everything—didn't you know that? Katniss inherited money from him, but they came to an agreement about the money that would have—" Finnick glanced furtively towards the bedrooms and lowered his voice. "The money that would have gone to Primrose. It finances the show. But Crane still writes the checks, owns the theatre. Surprised she didn't tell you all that."_

_All it had done was confuse Peeta more. He figured that even if her and her stepfather's relationship was strictly business, Katniss would at least be civil to the man. As it was, Katniss flagrantly hated him, Peeta could tell just by looking at the way she looked at him. And yet, Seneca Crane seemed to have some sort of…sway with her. He dominated their conversations, clearly controlled their proximity to one another, and whenever he opened his arms to embrace her, Katniss hugged him in return—though always with a look on her face like she was being forced to smell something foul._

_Peeta didn't trust Seneca Crane, not one bit. And he could tell that once again, there was something that Katniss was not telling him. Over a few days, Peeta had the same sort of conversations with Johanna and Annie. And the more he spoke to their friends, the more convinced he became that Seneca Crane's visit would prove disastrous one way or another._

* * *

She's eerily calm before the show, which she never is. One would think she had never performed in front of an audience before if you were to see her right before a show. It's when she's on the stage that she shines. It's the most placid Peeta's seen her since her stepfather's arrival. She's sitting at her vanity mirror, her fingers knotted in her long tresses plaiting braid after tiny braid to bind up together at the top of her head. He thinks all this work seems a bit much for one act, and says so.

"My sister used to love it when I wore my hair like this." Her voice is disjointed, hollow. He has the intense feeling of missing her even though she's sitting right in front of him. "Can you hand me those ribbons?"

He hands her the cluster of multicolored silken strings and continues to watch as she begins weaving them into the braids. He thinks of the incredible things her fingers can do: lacing and unlacing corsets, stitching together yards of fabric into sweeping skirt-trains, and of course, all the obscene things he lets her do to him in the dark. It's enough to give him a raging hard-on just watching her.

"Baby?" Peeta asks. "What's going on? Where are you? You aren't here with me, I know it. What can I do?"

"If you still love me when tonight is through, will you take me away from here?"

He'd never in a million years have expected these words to fall from her lips. Why on earth wouldn't he love her after tonight? After any night?

"What do you mean? Katniss, _everything_ is here. Your world is here."

She shakes her head, her braids bouncing against her cheeks, and clicks her tongue in her mouth. "I can make a world anywhere as long as I have you. You'll—look, you'll see after the show, why I can't stay here. Just watch. And if you still love me—"

"_Stop that._ Nothing in the world could make me stop loving you. We've already been through hell, we can survive anything." He hopes the words sound as certain on his lips then they feel in his head. They did make it through hell, but they almost didn't because of him.

"If you still love me after tonight, I want us to go away. Forever or not. I need something else than here. Some place where no one is gonna look to me for anything."

He isn't sure a place like that exists. People will always look to Katniss Everdeen, whether she wants them to our not.

* * *

_It wasn't a show anyone would likely forget. All of the troupe's shows were memorable, of course, but this one was something else. _

_Katniss had outdone herself with the costumes. It was almost too bad seeing the various bits hit the stage floor, if you forgot for a minute that was what you were there to see. But the audience was growing restless; four performances in, and Katniss had not yet taken the stage. She said it was so the newer girls could have their moments, which was all well and good, but she'd even shirked the emceeing duty to Johanna for the night. Her one and only number was at the very end. By the time she was introduced, the crowd was going ape for her, the anticipation being a killer. Katniss thrived off that._

_Dressed as she was in blue silks and ivory taffeta, looking every bit the role of a brunette Alice, one would expect an act coquettish and whimsical. The notes that came from Finnick's piano, however, were dark and ominous. Peeta watched from the wings as she sucked a deep, audible breath through her nose to get everyone's attention. Not that she needed to try—everyone was enthralled just by the prospect of getting to see her._

_But she wasn't singing for everyone, that much Peeta could tell for sure. Katniss told him once she'd pick a random audience member sometimes and decide she was performing just for them (she'd done so with Peeta the night they met), and clearly tonight's performance was no exception. The thing Peeta found so strange (and if he was honest, worrisome) was that she was singing specifically for Seneca Crane. _

_And as the lyrics rolled off her tongue, the more insidious the song became. _

Missed me missed me, now you've got to kiss me

If you kiss me, mister, you must think I'm pretty

If you think so, mister, you must want to fuck me

If you fuck me, mister, it must mean you love me

If you love me, mister, you would never leave me

It's as simple as can be

_Peeta let the lyrics sink in. And they began to make his stomach turn. How serious was she being? Was she really accusing... alleging...? _

Missed me, missed me, now you've got to kiss me

If you miss me, mister, why do you keep leaving?

If you trick me, mister, I will make you suffer

And they'll get you, mister, put you in the slammer and forget you,

Mister, then I think you'll miss me, won't you miss me

Won't you miss me

Missed me, missed me, now you've got to kiss me

If you kiss me, mister, take responsibility

I'm fragile, mister, just like any girl would be

And so misunderstood... so treat me delicately

_It was maybe one of the longest performances Peeta had ever seen. She normally had a way of undressing—either on stage or in private—that made the entire act seem too quick, too fleeting. But she was peeling every inch of fabric back as though she didn't want to remove it at all. And considering who was in the front row, leering at her..._

_Peeta couldn't decide what he wanted more—ball up a first or be physically ill._

Missed me, missed me, now you've gone and done it

Hope you're happy in the county penitentiary

It serves you right for kissing little girls

But I'll visit, if you miss me

Do you miss me, miss me?

How's the food they feed you?

Do you miss me?

Will you kiss me through the window?

Do you miss me, miss me?

Will they ever let you go?

I miss my mister so

"_Holy fuck," Johanna said. She and Annie had appeared next to Peeta hand-in-hand as Katniss's last scrap of clothing hit the floor, leaving her in pasties and a flesh-toned thong. Her hair wasn't all the way loose, but rather in two innocent plaits behind her ears, the ribbons adding an extra level of creepy charm to her. The crowd whooped: the disjointed, aggressive way Katniss had punctuated the final lines of the song with a crackling, raw voice clearly had not registered with them at all. Not like it had for the horrified Johanna and Annie. Not like it had for an ashen-faced Finnick, who still had to play the part of the showman and take a final bow with Katniss before she scurried off the other side of the stage._

_And certainly not like it had for Peeta. He could see only red. His jaw was clenched so hard he was sure he was grinding his teeth down to his gums. And his arms were shaking from how tightly his fists were balled. _

I'll fucking kill him, _he remembered thinking before his vision turned shiny and his grip on reality was lost. _I will fucking kill him for hurting her like that.

_It was a show everyone in attendance would never forget... because how often does a man barrel out from the side of the stage, leap into the audience, and begin pummeling the man sitting at the front-most table?_

* * *

There isn't much fancy about this hotel, but it has two things that Peeta and Katniss desperately need—a room just a few paces away from the ice machine, and easy access to two major interstates: one leading north, one leading east and west.

Katniss bolts the door behind her when she comes back from what is bound to be the first of numerous runs to said ice machine. The bucket is only about half full; she covers the cubes in water and sets it down in front of him. He grimaces, inhales and exhales sharply, then plunges his entire right hand into the ice water.

"Will you let me look at your face now, please?" Katniss asks him softly. There hadn't been time for it when they bolted to the car. Hammond is only about an hour northwest; in that time, Peeta's nose had stopped gushing blood and his left eye had mostly swollen shut. Thankfully, she'd been alright to drive. Shaken, but alright.

"I'm fine, really," Peeta says. His words come out nasally and he knows he's lying. His mouth still tastes metallic from how much of his own blood he'd swallowed.

Katniss sits in the chair across from him and crosses her arms over her chest. After a few seconds he pulls his hand out of the bucket and wraps it in a towel, no longer able to withstand the burning cold despite it relieving his swollen digits. The broken skin on his knuckles have left the water tinged pink. He figures that a fractured nose will heal alright on its own without medical attention—a broken hand, not so much. They'll have to cave and go to the ER before they leave Louisiana in the morning.

There's almost nothing in the car. A few of Katniss's costumes and makeup bags. The duffel bag full of dirty clothes Peeta was planning on dropping off at his old apartment to swap out for some clean ones for the week. His laptop bag and computer. Her purse and tablet. Neither of them have a pair of shoes, other than the ones they took off in, and every other earthly possession of theirs is back in New Orleans, where they were told very sternly by Seneca Crane never to set foot in again, unless they both wanted to be arrested.

As they drove, Katniss explained everything. It was a long explanation, and overdue. It wasn't easy to hear. Muddled as his brain was after throwing fists and taking them back, Peeta was able to process very little of it, but what he had learned was this: Katniss's stepfather is not only incredibly wealthy, but incredibly powerful. And his power was what gave him free-reign to abuse his two stepdaughters unpunished for years and years after their mother passed away. When Primrose finally caved and told her gymnastics coach what their stepfather would do to she and Katniss, Crane had a sitdown with the woman to explain the entire "misunderstanding". And just six months later, the fourteen year old girl was dead by her own hand. That part she didn't elaborate on, and Peeta didn't expect her to. But at that point, Katniss, older and of age to leave, had no more reason to stay with the monster to try and protect Prim. And under the understanding that Katniss would never breathe a word of the truth, Crane lavished her with all the money he had at his disposal.

Peeta isn't sure if the bile in his throat is a result of fisticuffs or the entire fucked up situation. He supposes it's probably both.

As he places the hotel washcloth full of pink ice on his swollen eye, all the things that Katniss ever kept from him begin to make sense. He knew she was full of demons, ones he might not be able to understand in spite of his own traumatic upbringing and sordid past. But this was more than he'd ever imagined in his worst nightmares.

"I wanted to make him _pay_ for it," she whispers. He'd told her in the car that loud noises were irksome to his ears in his present state. "For Prim. For making me feel small and insignificant, and like I was only ever good for… Well. Like I wasn't a human being, just something to keep him entertained. I wanted him to pay for everything."

"Best I can say to that is that at least that weird-ass beard of his will look properly fucked up, what with his jaw being three times its former size."

They both laugh even though it isn't really a matter to laugh about. It's the acerbic, deranged laugh of two people who have nothing left to lose.

"The drugs," he says. "The drugs make sense now."

Katniss looks at him, horrified. "You saw Ca—" She stops herself before she says too much, but Peeta begins to put that together, too.

_That tall blonde guy. _Between trying to beat Crane's face in and being pulled away by Katniss's lithe but ineffectual arms, she _did_ see him in the audience. And he only has one purpose in Katniss's life.

"For fuck's sake, Katniss. For _fuck's_ sake."

"I figured you'd leave me after you found out," she says coldly. "It didn't seem to make much sense to… To…"

Despite the pain coursing through his hand, he lashes out and knocks the ice bucket across the room. He's only been this angry with her once before, when he'd found that shit in her dressing room to begin with. This time his anger is different. He's just so tired of having to explain this to her.

"What do I have to do? What do I have to do to convince you that I'm never leaving you? That we are in this together, forever? 'Cause I'm pretty sure I just gave up my life, my job, everything back in New Orleans for you. If that isn't enough, Katniss, I don't know what is."

She's silent. Then, "_I'd_ have left me. I'm broken. I'm used goods."

"No, you aren't. That's what _he_ wanted you to think. Didn't you just say you did this to prove him wrong?"

"I didn't want to be afraid of him anymore."

Peeta gulps. God, he hates when she sounds so sad.

"Are you? Still afraid of him, I mean."

She thinks. Then she shakes her head. "Not anymore."

"Then can we work on you not being afraid of me stopping loving you next? I was the one who said it first, after all."

"There's a lot of things we need to work on," Katniss says resolutely. Her hands are getting shaky. If Peeta's center of gravity didn't feel so off-kilter, he'd go get her some candy to help with what must be a bitch of a craving that just came on.

He manages to stand up, which is a feat all on its own. "Come lay down with me. I'm tired. Bet you are, too."

They turn out the light and curl up together on the hard bed. They stroke one another's sides, arms, cheeks, necks, but it doesn't progress beyond that.

There aredecisions to be made. They have to decide if they're going north: taking I-55 to Jackson, or Memphis, or St. Louis, or Chicago. From there, would they pick up the 20, the 40, the 70 or 80 and head somewhere else? East? West? To one of the coasts? To middle America? Or is it easier, safer, to pick up I-10 and skirt along the bottom edge of the country until they find whatever it is they're looking for? And that's just the beginning. There's clothes to repurchase, meals to eat. Peeta will never be able to have the same sort of job stability he did after up and leaving with no notice, but Katniss could work anywhere there's a scene progressive enough to think of burlesque as it is, how not even cruel Seneca Crane could spoil it for her—beautiful. Pure.

"We could just live in the woods," she says, and the sound of her voice makes it clear she's smiling. "I could learn how to hunt and you could build fires. Maybe we could find a cabin by a lake and live there, where no one knows us. No one knows our names and how fucked up we both are. "

"If you'd like," Peeta says, although he knows his savings account could never pay for that. And he's not sure what sort of money she might have brought with her. If there even is any left after the stunt she pulled on Crane. Maybe they can get in touch with Finnick to send them some of their things. Sell Katniss's car and wire them the profits. All of that is for later, though. For now, it's midnight and there's nothing left to do but sleep.

He strokes her hair. He's so tired. "We'll figure it out together, Katniss, alright?"

"Yes. Together." She's still smiling.

Soon nightmares will overtake her. His head will throb to the point they take him to the ER in the middle of the night instead of waiting out until the morning, just in case everything is worse than it appeared. She'll crave. He'll want to fix her, even though he can't and shouldn't try to. Soon they'll make decisions and make love again. They'll re-learn each other's bodies as if they'd forgotten them, and free of everything else, it'll be better, stronger. One day, she might not even be so frightened of bringing a child into the world. Maybe she'll understand just how good it can be.

They'll have their happily ever after. But for now, in this moment, Peeta is content to just listen to her smile.

* * *

**A/N: And there we have it.**

**Hope you enjoyed. Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, and favorited. **

**I'm baronesskika on Tumblr. Come say hi anytime.**


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